


A Year

by kuragay



Series: Natsume Week 2020 [6]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Tumblr: Natsume Week, Tumblr: Natsume Week 2020, a tad bit of angst, but blink and you'll miss it, so so soft, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragay/pseuds/kuragay
Summary: Natsume and Madara through the seasons, from Madara's point of view.-Day 6: Seasons
Relationships: Madara "Nyanko-sensei" & Natsume Takashi
Series: Natsume Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812550
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	A Year

Madara does well in winter. His fur is warm in both his forms, and he thinks little of the breeze. What really bothers him is when fresh snow sticks to his paws and wets him. That’s the most annoying, he thinks.

But Natsume, like the brat he is, has no fur. His skin is practically hairless, and he walks with a coat and still shivers. As they walk down to the shop to get a cake to celebrate Shigeru’s promotion, Natsume’s face is red, his nose practically a cherry, and he’s quaking like he’s just drank two gallons of sake. Madara forgets sometimes how weak humans are, but Natsume never ceases to remind him.

“Wear a thicker coat next time,” he gripes as he hops on Natsume’s shoulder, more to escape the snow than anything, and Natsume groans.

“You’re too heavy, Sensei. Get off.”

“No way. The snow isn’t good for my paws.”

Natsume mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘stupid cat’ under his breath, but because he must sense Madara’s wrath, he doesn’t dare repeat it.

They get the cake and bring it home, and by then Natsume’s nose is running like a river, and his skin is rough from the wind. 

“Oh my,” Touko says, pinching warmth back into Natsume’s face. “I shouldn’t have sent you out today. I’m so sorry.”

Madara’s inclined to agree, as it seems even other humans forget how truly weak they are, but Natsume only smiles.

“I was happy to,” he says, and Touko beams back. She makes them tea and sets down a couple cooked shrimp for Madara which he happily gobbles up, then she sends Natsume to his room with some more boiling tea and an extra blanket.

“It’s supposed to get even colder tonight,” Shigeru frowns from the table, checking the weather forecast, and Touko shakes her head.

“Should I get another blanket for you?” She asks Natsume, but Natsume, the fool, waves her off.

“Two’s enough, really.”

And he’s a fool, truly, because when he lays down to sleep that night, he’s shivering.

“You should’ve accepted the other blanket,” Madara says, and Natsume glares at him.

“Shut up when people are trying to sleep.”

“You’ll never sleep if you keep shivering.”

Natsume ignores him and pulls the blankets up higher until they cover half his face then turns away from Madara. “Goodnight,” he says, and Madara can do nothing but huff.

Still, if in the middle of night night, he transforms and curls around the stupid human boy to keep him warm, no one has to know.

-

When the winter chill ebbs away, spring slowly creeps in, and the next thing Madara knows, the streets are filled with blooming cherry blossoms.

Time passes so strangely, here with Natsume. He doesn’t think that humans know how short every year is, much less a season, and everything ends up blending together. But spring always treats Natsume well. The other youkai agree, Madara knows, when they braid flowers into his hair and admire his beauty.

Natsume is practically made for spring with his unorthodox appearance and unconditional kindness. Sometimes, Madara fears that his kindness may get him killed, and he’s come far too close to death for Madara’s comfort already, yet Natsume’s still painfully gentle. Despite how reluctant he may act sometimes, if he’s able to lend even the smallest of hands, he always does, and it’s something Madara’s still struggling to understand.

Or, so he says, but he doesn’t lack enough self-awareness to say he doesn’t care for Natsume. It’s not something he would ever admit aloud, but there’s a begrudging fondness he feels when Natsume acts the fool and helps out youkai who will only take advantage of him.

They walk under a row of cherry blossoms together, petals falling freely onto the wet floor below them. Japan’s springs come with rain, and this year especially so, and the petals drop early, wet and miserable. But Natsume has that gentle smile on as he walks, his expression telling Madara that he’s calm and happy even as his shoes get wet, and Madara wonders why that is.

“Why do you have a stupid smirk on your face?” He asks, wondering if Natsume would get too mad if Madara were to jump on his shoulder. He doesn’t quite find the appeal in wet feet that Natsume seems to find, but he’s sure Natsume would give him a good whack for getting his coat dirty.

“I don’t have a stupid smirk on my face.” Natsume rolls his eyes, his smile momentarily dipping, but as soon as he loses focus, it’s back. He inhales and exhales like he’s smelling something great, but when Madara sniffs the air, all he smells is petrichor and mud.

There are a couple moments of silence with only Natsume’s shoes sloshing down the road, and when Madara looks at his face, Natsume is looking down, his lashes long and straight, his cheeks rosy red. 

“I’m just happy, I guess,” Natsume says. The wind picks up, and Natsume breathes deeply again only to pause for a second, his footsteps stalling as his chest expands. “The air here is so fresh. I’m glad we’re not in the city.”

Madara wonders if there’s something else to it that brings out this nostalgic, candid happiness in Natsume, and then he wonders if Natsume himself even knows what it is. 

Although Madara doesn’t share the same memories that bring Natsume such peace, he does find spring a gentler season, at least here in the countryside. The sun is forgiving, the cold is manageable for humans, and the flowers are fragrant. On sunny spring days, Madara can picture a picnic with freshly baked sweets and grilled meats and sake. 

Natsume, surely, is picturing something else.

They resume walking, and in the ten minutes they take to get home, the smile lingers on Natsume’s lips.

-

When summer comes, Madara finds himself wishing that they lived further up north. Whereas spring is gentle, summer is scorching. The rays beat down mercilessly from dawn to dusk, and when Natsume’s out gardening with Touko, Madara catches him wiping at his forehead every minute or two. With Natsume’s weak disposition, Madara’s almost worried that the stupid boy will faint and hit the ground.

But Natsume continues working, only taking a quick break with Touko to eat some watermelon before they head back out. 

“We have to maintain the garden,” Natsume says. “Especially when the fruits and vegetables are ripening.” 

He’s stronger than he was last year by far even though his lanky frame hides it. From a stranger’s point of view, they may still find Natsume fragile. But Madara has seen Natsume sickly and scared of every little sound, and the Natsume now stands without slouching, hands worn from weeks of pulling weeds and clipping leaves, and even though he would rather give up the book of friends than ever admit it, he’s proud.

They stop gardening when the sun goes down, Natsume feeds Madara enough watermelon that he can feel liquid rolling in his stomach, and they flop down on Natsume’s futon before midnight. It’s too hot for a proper blanket, but Natsume still drapes a thin cover over them, and Madara makes himself comfortable by Natsume’s head.

He can hear Natsume’s heartbeat, strong and steady, and Natsume sighs. 

“I’m so tired,” he says, but he sounds pleased. “I’m so glad I got to do this with Touko. I should help out more often.”

“You help out plenty,” Madara snorts because Natsume’s eagerness to lend a hand to the Fujiwaras has never ceased in the two years he’s spent living with them. Butt Natsume is the kind of person who seems to always strive to do better, even when it directly harms him. His sense of self-worth is sometimes startlingly non-existent, but Madara knows--with a steady flow of anger--that it’s a product of the environment Natsume grew up in. He grew up in a place of absence where he was taught that being ignored was better than the alternative, and recovery, so Madara has learned, is a slow, irksome process.

Summer too, like spring, treats Natsume gently despite the heat. It’s not because Natsume does well in the heat; he does as well as any teenage boy. Rather, it’s because Natsume relishes in warmth as he was denied it so often in his younger days. Sometimes Madara sees him close his eyes when the sun hits his face, and he just stands there and breathes for a little as if the warmth is healing.

Maybe it is, Madara muses. Maybe summer treats Natsume best of all.

-

The heat lingers far into autumn, especially in recent years, and Madara sits sweating in Natsume’s room as the fan blows through his fur. 

“It’ll get cooler soon,” Natsume says, and Madara rolls onto his back with a whine.

“It’s already almost November.”

“It’s barely mid october.”

Yet the leaves are already yellow and orange, rain is becoming a regular thing again, and Touko has bought Natsume a new, thin autumn coat.

School’s in full swing after summer break with mid-year tests rolling in and leaving Natsume more focused on homework than on Madara. Embarrassingly, he realizes he misses the attention before remembering that he’s not actually a cat, and that Natsume is not actually his owner. Being in this form is rotting his brain, Madara thinks.

“Let’s go get dango. I want mitarashi dango!” Madara sets his paws on Natsume’s leg from where Natsume’s working at his desk, and Natsume sighs.

“Sensei, I have to study or I’m really going to fail English.”

“You don’t need English anyway!”

“I need it to graduate from high school.” He’s graduating this year, Madara remembers, and he frowns. He wonders where Natsume will go, after.

From the open window, a breeze blows in, and Natsume’s papers scatter. When they look over to the window, they’re eye to eye with a long, drifting youkai who’s translucent in her weakness. She has long, auburn hair that sweeps over a pale face, her golden dress draping over her like a curtain.

“Why does this have to happen now?” Natsume groans, and Madara secretly agrees, lamenting over the fact that he probably won’t get his dango now. 

“Natsume,” the youkai rasps, autumn leaves tangled in her hair, loose ones drifting onto the tatami floor, and Natsume sighs.

“I’m not Reiko.”

The youkai seems unconcerned and hums, inviting herself into Natsume’s room until she’s inches from Natsume’s face. One of her ghostly hands comes up to reach for his cheek, and Madara can’t help the annoyance that causes him to reach out and swat it aside.

Shocked, the youkai jerks back, her eyes narrowing in displeasure, and Natsume sighs again.

“Sensei, stop.”

Youkai wouldn’t get away with half the things they do if Natsume put his foot down, but the boy, as usual, is stupid enough to let the youkai approach once again. This time, when she reaches up to trace along his jaw, Madara doesn’t bother stopping her.

“Do you want your name back?” Natsume asks softly, sensing something in the youkai that Madara doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get the kindness in Natsume’s voice, and he doubts he’ll get it any time soon. The truth is that their values are fundamentally different, and they’re both learning to adjust. But at the end of the day, Natsume’s still foolishly kind, and Madara still has to look out for him.

“Please,” the youkai says, bowing her head briefly. Her hands now trace Natsume’s hair, entranced, before Natsume pulls away to grab the book.

When he returns her name, her eyes close as if she’s finally at peace, and her body grows all the more solid. Her hair flows around her, more leaves fall around Natsume’s room, and she breathes deeply.

“Thank you, Natsume,” she says before leaving, and Natsume lies down on the floor, his arm covering his eyes as he lets out an exhausted groan.

“I should really do my homework,” he says but makes no move to get up, and madara heads over and curls up by his head.

“We should go get dango instead, if you’re too tired to focus.”

Madara would’ve missed it if he wasn’t looking so attentively at Natsume’s face, but for a second, Natsume’s lips split into a smile before settling back into their neutral state. Then, to Madara’s surprise, Natsume gets up and stretches, grabbing his bag.

“Sure. C’mon Sensei, let’s get some dango.”

Natsume’s growing taller, changing quickly in ways that only humans seem to do. His eyes get softer with each passing day, and he’s far quicker to smile than he ever was before. There are some people in this world who Madara thinks are not as deserving of kindness and forgiveness as Natsume makes them out to be, but there’s also Natsume who deserved far more kindness than he was ever given growing up. 

The sun is going down, and with it comes the autumn chill that Madara has been looking forward to all day. 

“Bring your coat,” Madara says, and Natsume looks over at Madara with an expression that can only be called amusement.

“Thank you for reminding me.”

Madara huffs, sticking his nose up in the air, but the act is deliberately obvious. Of course he cares, and of course he’ll never verbalize it. It doesn’t matter anyway because Natsume must know. He grabs his coat and scratches Madara gently behind his ears, his smile disgustingly sweet and his eyes all squinty. 

“You’re getting fat, Sensei.”

“It’s my winter coat!”

“It’s mid-october.” 

And it is, isn’t it. But soon it’ll be november, and soon years will go by in a couple blinks of the eye, and Natsume will keep growing. Natsume will keep growing, and Madara will have the annoyance (the pleasure) of being a part of it.

-

Winter comes again, as it always does, and Madara prances through the snow, relishing in the way his tracks appear on the previously untrodden, pristine blanket of white. His paws will feel wet soon, and then he’ll complain, but for now he’s happy with his simple task.

To his right, Natsume makes his own tracks, one foot in front of the other, his scarf pulled to right under his lips. When he breathes, condensation forms a thick cloud in front of him, like smoke, and Natsume breathes again and watches his droplets float away. 

“I think it was colder last year,” Natsume muses, and Madara wonders if that’s true. He can’t quite remember how cold it was last year. 

“You’re still shivering though,” Madara points out, and Natsume laughs.

“We don’t all have fur like yours.”

“That’s true. We can’t all be so lucky.”

Still, when Natsume reaches his arms out like a child, Madara obliges and jumps into them, his head tucked under Natsume’s chin, and he thinks of how frail these same arms felt around him two years ago. If he listens closely, he can hear Natsume’s steady heartbeat, and when he stills, he can feel the body heat being shared between them.

He didn’t think he could get attached, and to a human of all things, but even creatures as powerful as himself can sometimes be wrong. How foolish, he thinks, to love something so temporary. How foolish, and how warm.


End file.
